Smoke
by rscoil
Summary: A car accident leaves Christine disfigured and miserable, but a mysterious pianist gives her hope. (Warning: Offscreen Character Death)


There were sirens. The bright flash of headlights shone in her eyes and smoke choked her lungs. Raoul's voice was calling her name.

Christine woke in a cold sweat. Pain shot through her broken ribs as she tried to sit up. The morning sounds of the hospital did little to comfort her racing mind, just as the bandages covering half her body did little to help her clammy flesh. The IV of pain medication was mercifully doing most of its job, stopping her from feeling the true extent of her injuries.

One month in a medical coma. Two days since she woke up.

They were driving home from their engagement party and t-boned by a drunk driver. The nurses told her that Raoul was killed on impact, but his voice in her dreams suggested otherwise. The other driver hadn't lived, either.

She was grateful that she hadn't be able to attend the funeral. She didn't know if she could have faced all those people who, a few days before, wished them a long, happy, and healthy life together.

Her only visitors were the Girys. She had yet to see anyone from Raoul's family. It confirmed her suspicions that the de Chagnys were only nice to her for Raoul's sake.

Her favorite of the nurses came in a small gaggle of doctors.

"Alright, honey, we're going to need to see how your burns are doing."

She'd seen the burns on her legs and stomach, but that didn't lessen the shock of seeing the scorched skin once again.

The facial bandages were more complicated, but at last they were off.

"Do you want to see?" the nurse asked gently. A mirror was placed in front of her.

Two women stared back at Christine. One side of her face was familiar and smooth. The other belonged to a stranger. It was a vivid pink, riddled with blisters. And her hair. Her long blonde hair that Raoul so loved. It was gone, cropped short and close to her head. The burns reached past her hairline and she wondered if it was even possible to look normal again.

Christine left her followup appointment feeling frustrated. She still thought she looked like poorly made wax figure. Life as she knew it was over.

There would be no big wedding. She would never wear the dress she fell in love with, would never feel Raoul's fingers in her hair as he kissed her and she became his wife.

She couldn't even work for the time being. No opera company wanted a girl who looked like her. She was taking classes at a local college in the meantime, trying to decide what to do with the ruins of her life.

The normally quiet burn ward was filled with soft piano music and she followed the sound curiously.

A man sat at the old upright in the waiting room, his fingers moving fluidly over the keys. The music was beautiful, the sort of thing her father would have loved. Christine felt her shoulders relax, releasing tension she hadn't realized she was holding.

The piece ended and she approached the pianist carefully.

"Your playing is beautiful."

The man turned in surprise. She took in the mask that covered his entire face and the dark hair attempting to hide its edges.

"It should be," he said with a laugh, "It's my job."

"I didn't know hospitals employed pianists these days."

"This is volunteer work, but I am a professional pianist. Erik DuMont, at your service." He held out a hand for her to shake.

"Christine Daae." She tried not to focus on the scars covering her hand as she shook his.

"Wait, you're not _the _Christine Daae? The one who led _Roméo et Juliette _at the Martinique last year?"

"Yes. That was a long time ago, though." It felt like another lifetime.

"You're one of the best sopranos I've ever heard live. I was bummed when they said you wouldn't be back this season."

Christine fought the urge to cry. "A lot happened to me since. There was an accident-" Her voice broke.

"I'm so sorry." She was shocked at the warmth in his voice. "I guess that explains why you're hanging out in a burn ward on a Saturday afternoon."

"I'm, uh, here for a followup. You too?"

Erik laughed darkly. "Not quite. It's been a while since I had regular appointments here, but I sort of befriended my doctor. I'm meeting him for dinner."

"Actually," he continued, "I'm glad I came today. It's not every day that a pretty girl talks to me."

He thought she was pretty? That first glimpse of her face flashed across her mind. Even with makeup, she still didn't look like herself.

"What do you mean? You're cute and you play piano. Surely you have women throwing themselves at you."

"Believe it or not, a burnt up guy in a mask doesn't draw a lot of attention from women. Especially not one who's missing a leg."

She frowned. "Well, this woman is giving you attention. Would you want to meet for coffee tomorrow?"

He smiled behind the mask. "Most definitely."

"Then it's a date."

As she walked to her car, his number saved to her phone, Christine finally felt normal.


End file.
